Just Like Em

by Marion Ekholm

  Her attention turned to Roger. He appeared more rested today, now that the teenage party was over. A breeze played with his hair, and she longed to tame it with her fingers. Little chance of that with so many people around. She waited patiently while he discussed some topic with Harve. Once he left, Em decided to join Roger.

  “Want another beer?” she asked as she approached. She handed him a bottle of Budweiser then sat in the chair Harve had vacated. “Nice party.”

  He smiled at her, twisted the cap off the bottle and took a swig. “Better than last night. At least now I can drink a beer.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you could have had one last night.” She pressed her lips together to control a smile and gazed off at the horizon. She didn’t miss his scowl.

  “Sure. If I’d gotten into Jimmy What’s-His-Name’s stash.” He sat up straighter, before leaning toward her. “What kind of idiot brings beer to a birthday party for a fourteen-year-old?”

  “Only a sixteen-year-old trying to make an impression.”

  Roger sat back and took another sip. “Well, he’s not going to darken our door again. I can tell you that.”

  Although she tried her best, Em couldn’t contain a chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Dear, dear Roger.” She patted his arm, forcing herself to keep things platonic. “You have to stop carving laws in stone and remember what you were like as a teenager.” When he didn’t interrupt, she continued, “Your rigid rules are like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Teenagers have to flout authority, even if they don’t really want to.”

  “So you’re saying if I don’t allow Jimmy Whatever to come around anymore, Samantha will become that much more interested in him?”

  “Possibly. Right now, though, I think she’s more interested in the one with the yellow spiked hair.”

  “Auntie Em,” Roger said in a choked voice. “That’s what you had, yellow spiked hair.”

  “And didn’t I turn out all right?”

  They both started to laugh. How wonderful it was to see him relaxing, enjoying their time together.

  He leaned closer. “You turned out just right.” He placed his hand, cold and damp from the bottle, against her cheek and pushed a strand of hair back over her ear. His touch was warm.

  “You know what I wish,” he said in a low whisper, despite the fact that no one was near enough to hear. “I wish we could put some slow music on and dance like last night.”

  “As I recall,” Em said, lowering her own voice, “you weren’t too happy about those slow dances.”

  “Because Samantha was dancing with Spike-head. Seeing that spoiled my concentration.”

  “And what did you want to concentrate on?”

  “Holding you in my arms. Moving as one with the music.”

  “Like they were doing?”

  “Woman, what’s with you?” he said sitting back. “Here I’m trying to draw you into a conversation, and you keep throwing those horrible images at me. Have you no romance?”

  “How far do you plan to take this conversation?”

  “Not far enough, I’m afraid.” He gestured to the throng of people in the yard. “Whenever we start to talk about anything personal, someone always manages to interfere.” With a sigh, he turned back to face her. “And I want very much to get personal.” Leaning over, he murmured, “How about we chuck this whole party business and go somewhere else?”

  Em fell back against her chair in laughter. “Try and control yourself until tomorrow. We have a date, remember?”

  “Some date. A quick dinner and then I’m off to Seattle again.” Suddenly, his expression became pensive as he looked beyond her.

  “Here you are, Roger...and Emily,” Grandma Millie said. Em didn’t bother to remind Millie her formal name was Emmy Lou. She’d already corrected her twice, but the woman refused to remember it. “I’d like to talk to you privately, Roger, if your friend doesn’t mind.”

  A chilling breeze wafted around them now that the sun was setting, but it had no effect on the woman’s white curls. No wonder, Em thought, she’s carved in alabaster. Em started to get up to leave, but Millie put her hand up, indicating she should stay put.

  “Please, Roger. Could we go in the house? It’s beginning to get cold out here,” Millie said, glancing at Em as though she was the cause of the nocturnal chill. As Roger stood, the older version of Karen locked her arm in his, and they headed for the patio doors.

  “Hello, Joanne. We haven’t had a chance to speak,” Em said to the woman who had shadowed Millie. “Would you like to sit?” She pointed to the seat Roger had vacated, determined not to let Millie’s putdowns irritate her.

  Joanne collapsed onto the folding chair. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Are you Millie’s younger sister?”

  The woman leaned closer and tapped her arm. “Aren’t you sweet. No, I’m five years older.” She sighed. “I’d really appreciate it if she’d slow down. Physically, the woman is a dynamo.” Joanne sighed again. “Unfortunately...” She turned and looked at her sister’s retreating back before giving her full attention to Em.

  “When I was talking to Betty, she said you and your mother are staying with Roger.”

  “Yes. It’s a temporary thing. My mother is taking care of the children, and I’m helping out.” She wasn’t too sure how much information she should provide Joanne, what with all the problems her sister had created.

  Joanne sighed and looked down at the ground a moment. “Millie is staying with me, now. She won’t be calling anymore and disrupting things.” Joanne gripped Millie’s arm. “I realize she’s put Roger’s family through a lot. I’m hoping...the doctors said it’s going to get worse. Dementia. It’s quite heartbreaking to see the degeneration.”

  Em placed her hand over the other woman’s. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You never knew her when she was in her prime.” Joanne glanced over her shoulder again and stood. “I better go check on her. I haven’t had any opportunity to talk to Roger since we spoke on the phone.”

  With a sigh, Em looked around the yard. What she needed was social contact to wash away the heartbreaking news about Grandma Millie, even though now the woman’s actions made more sense. She walked away from the chairs and headed for the refreshment table, where her mother cleared the remaining food.

  * * *

  ROGER CONCENTRATED ON the scuff marks on his sneakers as tears streamed down his mother-in-law’s face. He felt uncomfortable in her presence. Always had. Never more so than today when she had so openly slighted Em.

  Millie had asked to see the portrait she had commissioned for Karen’s thirtieth birthday. He took her into the living room expecting to remove it from behind the couch. When had someone put it back up? It certainly couldn’t have been Doris or Em. Now, as he glanced at the painting, set regally on the living room wall, his discomfort increased. He had come to terms with his own grief, in large measure through his growing affection for Em. It no longer felt right having Karen dominate his life the way this portrait dominated the room.

  “I suppose now that you’re carrying on with that Emily, I won’t get much chance to see her anymore,” Millie said, pointing to the portrait.

  Roger stiffened. “It’s Em, Millie, and I’m not carrying on with her. And I’d appreciate if you’d stop insinuating such things to Samantha.”

  “Em,” Millie said, swiping her nose with a lace hanky. “What a stupid name.”

  Since she totally ignored his reprimand, he let the issue go, determined instead to defend Em to the fullest. “Her name’s rather endearing, actually.” He paused before adding, “She’s rather endearing.”

  Perplexed, Millie regarded him. “And who’s this Samantha you keep mentioning? Another woman you’re carrying on with?”

  “Samantha’s the
birthday girl. Your granddaughter.”

  “Isn’t this Karen’s birthday?”

  “Millie, Karen died several years ago.”

  Just then, Joanne, came into the room with Samantha. Roger reached for his daughter and placed an arm around her shoulders. “This is Samantha, Millie.” He glanced up at the portrait and saw similar features in Karen and Samantha. No wonder his mother-in-law had difficulty telling them apart. Especially after what Joanne had told him when he’d called her yesterday—that Millie was being treated for the first stages of Alzheimer’s.

  Millie walked over to Samantha. “Don’t be silly. This is Karen.” She tried brushing her hand through Samantha’s hair and the girl backed away.

  Stepping between them, Roger said, “Go back to your party, honey.” He turned to Millie as Samantha made a quick exit, avoiding her grandmother. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and I really feel you should have this painting.”

  “You and the children need her here. They can’t be allowed to forget their mother.”

  Her confusion was playing havoc with his ability to cope. How could he reason with someone who was beyond reason? He’d never had to deal with anyone with dementia before. “The children and I can never forget her. Karen will always be the love of my life.”

  Em paused in the hall, a few feet from the living room. She’d heard voices and then Roger’s declaration. What had come before or what would come after didn’t matter. That one statement annihilated her dreams and reinforced her fears. She had no chance with Roger, never had.

  For several moments, Em stood transfixed, not willing to be seen. This was absurd. Her mother had asked for a sweater from their room, and Em had to pass the living room in order to get it. She took a tentative step then doggedly continued. Maybe if she kept her head down and didn’t make eye contact, she could traverse the hall unseen.

  “Well, there she goes. Sneaking around like some cat burglar.”

  Em froze at the sound of Millie’s contemptuous words. Gingerly, she pivoted to acknowledge the woman.

  “Millie, that was uncalled for,” Roger said as he stepped between them. “Em lives here. She doesn’t have to sneak around.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t be here at all if you had taken me up on my offer to care for the children. Paying that Spanish woman when you’re losing your job. It’s an outrageous waste of money.”

  So, she still thought Sophia worked here. Oh, well, it did no good to correct her. Roger considered telling Millie that he did have a job, but that would not only spoil his plans to surprise Em when he asked her to marry him, it would also make no impression on her. Instead, he said, “Em and her mother have been a wonderful influence on my children. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  Em smiled at him appreciatively.

  “She’ll never replace Karen,” Millie continued as though Em wasn’t standing a few feet in front of her. “Hope she knows that.” Millie returned her gaze to her daughter’s portrait with a look of rapture. “Her spirit will always be in this house. Nothing can take that away.” Millie turned her attention back to Em and scowled. “No matter how much you try to worm your way into this family.”

  Em heard the chastisement in Roger’s voice as he spoke to his mother-in-law, but didn’t stay around to listen to all the words. Millie was right. Hadn’t Roger said as much moments before? What she needed, longed for, was undying love and commitment. Unfortunately, he’d never be able to give them to her. Not when they remained in the hands of a ghost.

  Em rushed to her room, all thoughts of her mother’s sweater washed from her mind. Any hope she may have fostered about Roger’s interest in her was lost. He could never love her when he still cared for Karen.

  But she longed so much to have Roger hold her. She’d wanted memories of being in his arms, if not in his heart.

  Em pulled open one drawer after another in search of her cigarette pack. Where had she put it? Where would she smoke once she found it? Disgusted with herself, she slammed the last drawer shut. Every time her life crumbled around her, she reached for a smoke. What a rotten crutch.

  She noticed her answering machine blinking. With a resigned sigh, she pressed the button and sprawled on her back on her bed, her hands extended and her feet still touching the floor. This was her first chance to relax and let all her cares evaporate.

  “You have two messages,” a female voice said. “First message, Saturday, seven thirty-three p.m.” That had to be yesterday when they were all outside singing “Happy Birthday” to Samantha.

  “What’s going on, Emmy Lou?”

  Bradley’s strident voice instantly brought Em to a sitting position.

  “You’re still not answering your phone? Isn’t your little errand boy around to take your messages? So help me, if I find you’re living with some guy...”

  During the pause, Em sprang to her feet and stood by the machine, staring at it, her hands on either side of it. Had Bradley called before? Had Roger answered the phone? Why hadn’t he mentioned it to her?

  “You better not be if you want to keep our kid. Wait till the judge hears you turned into a little slut.” His last remark was followed by a loud click.

  The female voice came back with, “Second message, Saturday, seven forty-two p.m.”

  “Did you get my bills? Express mail a payment today, or so help me, Emmy Lou, I’m going to my lawyer.” Click.

  Blackmail. Is that what she had to look forward to? Pay Bradley blackmail to keep him from dragging her through the courts with unfounded suits?

  “Em?”

  Em spun around as her mother entered the room.

  “I thought you were going to get me a sweater.” Doris chuckled as she went to a drawer. “The party’s about to really get started. Did you speak to Millie’s sister? Joanne said Millie’s being treated for Alzheimer’s. And all this time I thought she was just crazy.” Doris shook her head. “That’s a real shame. Poor woman.”

  Doris pulled a blue sweater from the drawer and turned. “Why Em, what’s the matter?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “You look positively awful. Are you feeling all right?”

  Em shook her head. “No,” she said in a strangled voice, clutching her throat. “I think I may be coming down with something.”

  “Well, take a hot shower, some aspirin and get into bed. I’ll check on you later.”

  Once her mother was gone, Em collapsed onto her bed. The tears flowed freely, the dam that had held back all the pain of her past mistakes now broken. Number-one mistake being her ex-husband. How did she ever fall for anyone who could be so cruel?

  * * *

  “WHAT ARE YOU going to wear?” Samantha asked Em. It was late Monday afternoon, and Em felt as nervous as a teenager going on her first date. For that matter, it was her first date—with Roger. They’d have little chance to do more than eat in the revolving restaurant, since he had to make his plane for Seattle.

  Good. Their time together would be short, followed by a week of time alone where she could sort out her life.

  “So, what are you wearing?” Samantha asked, again intruding on Em’s thoughts. Ever since Em had returned from work and taken her shower, Samantha had been stationed in Em’s room, sitting on the bed and offering all types of advice, from what perfume to wear to maybe borrowing Samantha’s new diamond earrings, still in the little blue box until she could wear them. “You should wear the black dress. It’s perfect.”

  “I thought I was supposed to save that for you.”

  “You can get it cleaned. Besides, Dad’s so much in the Dark Ages he won’t let me wear it till I’m forty.

  “Tonight’s really special, isn’t it?” Samantha continued. “I think he’s going to ask you.”

  Em reached in the closet and fingered the rhinestone straps before slipping the dress over her head. Ask
me what? Em thought. He wanted to know more about her, he’d said. What exactly did that mean? Em caught her breath as fear swirled through her. Maybe he’d discussed something with Bradley. Had Bradley made threats? Would Roger want her to move out? How on earth could she extricate herself from this family?

  “Do you think?” Samantha asked.

  Em manipulated the tight dress over her hips and adjusted the rhinestone straps on her shoulders, keeping her thoughts to herself as she answered, “Do I think what?”

  Samantha bounded from the bed to help with the zipper. “That he’ll ask you?”

  Em glanced at the young girl to see what she might possibly be referring to. She seemed excited, happy, even. Obviously, she had no inkling what had gone through Em’s thoughts.

  “Ask me what?” Em ventured, assured that the girl had something else on her mind. Adjusting the thin straps, Em fussed with the top, worried that she might be showing too much cleavage.

  “Marriage, silly!”

  Marriage? Afraid she might topple over, Em placed her hands on the dresser and braced herself. “Where do you get your ideas? This is our first real date.”

  “Duh.” Samantha rolled her eyes and acted like a bored teenager. “I know these things. I read romance novels. I watch TV.”

  Em clamped her lips. How could she end their conversation? “Should I wear my hair up or down?” she asked, more to change the subject than for an actual opinion. Roger liked her hair down, and she preferred it that way, too, now that the Phoenix heat had subsided.

  “Up, definitely up, and I’ve got the perfect thing. Wait. Don’t do anything until I get back.”

  Em sat down on the edge of the bed, her nerves shattered. So, she’d put her hair up and avoid further discussion. Taking it down once they were in the car would be an easy matter. Oh, if only she could have a cigarette. What if Roger did ask her to marry him? What would she say? But would he? How could he? No, there was no way.

  “Here,” Samantha said as soon as she burst through the doorway. “It’s a comb Sophia gave me that señoritas wear down in Mexico. Isn’t it pretty? I’m letting my hair grow so I can use it.”